Page 17 of Only for You
Chapter Six
Vanilla and cucumbers.
Killian nuzzled the black strands, inhaling her familiar scent. Apparently Gabriella used the same shampoo as before, too. Same style of clothing. Same body products. Same safe word. Yet, she’d changed, as well. And the combination of old and new fascinated him. When it shouldn’t.
He shouldn’t be fascinated, curious, or even give a damn.
This was purely physical. He wanted her body, her pleasure…her shaking beneath him. That’s all he needed. Not this damn stirring of memories. Not this…tenderness that wanted to take up residence like a squatter.
Yet…yet, he didn’t shift her off his lap and leave the bed. Instead, he tightened his arms around her, buried his face in her hair, and breathed her in. This was okay. He could allow himself this small thing since she still slept. She’d never know, and he wouldn’t have to deny.
He glanced toward the spanking bench, and immediately images of her bound to it bombarded him. Never would he be able to look at it and not see her. Not recall her, blissed out and shaking on its padded surface. Not hear her screams echoing in his head. Not feel her slick, wet heat drenching his fingers and tight flesh squeezing him like a vise grip.
No woman had ever given herself to him as freely as Gabriella. The others—they’d been erotic games, roles played. With Gabriella…it wasn’t playing; it was essential.
So much had been altered, broken, between them. But this need for her surrender, her trust? It was the same. Just as vital. Just as powerful. Like then, it validated him. Made him feel worthy. If this woman—this gorgeous, independent, strong woman—could submit everything to him, then maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the petty thief with a drunk for a father. Maybe he was more than muscle for a mob boss. Maybe he was more.
How, after all that had passed between them, could she still make him feel that way? Still make him feel honored that he could care for her after she’d blacked out from the pleasure he’d given her. Make him feel important as he’d removed the sex toys from her and rubbed aloe into her reddened skin before wrapping her in a blanket. Make him feel like a protector as he held her while she slept.
Killian tipped his head back, so he could suck in air that didn’t contain the scent of vanilla, cucumber, and sex. Too much shit had happened between them. Even if he could forgive and forget about her calling the police, he could never trust. He’d emerged from jail not only with a broken voice, but a broken belief in people, a mistrust that had been etched into his soul by the betrayal and abandonment of one woman.
And she rested against him, her soft breaths whispering across his skin like a gentle caress.
“Killian?” Gabriella stirred, her voice slurred with remnants of pleasure. Like a kitten, she snuggled deeper against him.
“Yeah,” he rasped, dropping his arms from around her. “I’m here.”
She turned her head, her lips grazing his skin and rekindling his simmering arousal to full blast. Not that it required much. He hadn’t come yet, and after having both his fingers and mouth inside and on her, his body throbbed in complaint.
Sitting up on his lap, she dragged her hair out of her face, a growing awareness quickly chasing the lethargy away. The blanket he’d wrapped around her slid from her shoulders, baring her from the waist up. Like a magnet, her full, delicate breasts drew his attention. He hadn’t tasted them yet. Desire thrummed inside him, drawing every muscle tight. That would be a crime he would be rectifying soon.
With Herculean effort, he returned his gaze to her face and slumberous, lilac eyes. The humor reflected there also curled her mouth. With a small sigh, she pinched a few strands of his hair that had loosened from the band and rubbed them between her fingertips. “For the past years, I’ve pictured you as you were. Shorter hair. But I like this lumbersexual look you have going.”
“Lumber what?” He grunted. “Is that even a real thing?”
“Oh yes.” She nodded, the curl of lips wider, spreading into a smile. “There are thousands of Pinterest pages dedicated to it.”
He grunted. He’d never bothered with the social media site. It seemed like nothing but a time suck and a place where people could post pictures of their cats…and apparently lumbersexual men.
“How long i—well, damn,” she breathed, turning fully in his lap until she almost straddled him. Splaying her fingers wide over his pecs and shoulders, she released a sigh that sounded nearly reverent. “You’re so beautiful.” She traced the lines of the tattoos that stretched across his chest from shoulder to shoulder and down both arms. Ornate crosses, angels, demons, leviathans with gaping mouths…he was a walking canvas of good versus evil. A reflection of the thoughts that dominated his mind, especially after he was released from jail. Each tattoo received her attention, and just as she trailed a caress over his ink, he curled his fingers at his sides so he didn’t do the same to the delicate arches of her dark eyebrows, or the elegant bridge of her nose, or the plump curves of her mouth.
“Nipple rings.” She huffed out a chuckle, brushing the rings. “I thought I’d felt these under your shirt earlier. The tattoos, the piercings. They’re new,” she murmured. “At least to me.”
Pinching one of the sterling silver hoops between her fingers, she tugged lightly. He hissed, feeling the small pull in his cock. Gritting his teeth, he rolled his hips, stroking his dick against her bare thigh. Her eyes widened slightly, a low gasp escaping her parted lips.
“What does it feel like?” she whispered, treating his nipple to another tug. “Does it hurt?”
“Yeah,” he ground out, hips jerking again. “A little. A good hurt.”
“Yeah,” she repeated. Her hands skimmed lower, lighting up nerve endings in her wake. She trailed her fingertips over the light bruises marring his ribs. In another day or so, they would darken to the color of her eyes. Another reminder he’d carry after tonight. “Is this another kind of ‘good hurt’?”
He studied her, searching her face, but she didn’t meet his gaze, instead traced the mark over and over before moving to the next and repeating the caress.
What could he say that wouldn’t sound just a little bit unstable? She’d already witnessed his…episode…in the elevator. The thought of appearing even weaker, crazier, in her eyes…
“Wendy mentioned you were involved in underground fighting,” she said when he didn’t reply. “The fighting, the pain… They silence the demons, don’t they? Give you an outlet for them.” Her lashes lifted, and he stared into understanding, into compassion. The fist squeezing the hell out of his chest loosened. She nodded. “I have a lot to answer for, don’t I?” she murmured.
Did she? Not with this one. Using his fists had always been his release valve. Only once he’d done it for the O’Bannons, and now he did it for himself. His sanity.
